Promises to Keep

by Nan Rossiter

  “That’s crazy.”

  “What . . . him taking me for a ride?”

  “No, that you found him there.”

  “Well, when I bought the car, he told me his family wanted him to move to Savannah, but what are the chances . . . right?”

  Ali nodded. “My mom always says ‘God works in mysterious ways.’”

  Mason smiled. “My mom used to say that, too.”

  “So . . . is that what you’re gonna call her . . . Maeve?”

  Mason took a sip of his coffee. “I guess so. I don’t really know what to call her—calling her Mom doesn’t feel right. At least, not yet . . . maybe not ever.”

  Ali nodded. “Well, you still haven’t told me much.”

  “What did you ask again?” he teased.

  “Was she what you expected? Was she surprised? Did she cry? Did you cry?”

  “Oh, yeah! She was great. Very surprised. And yes, we both cried.”

  “Do you look like her?”

  “Maybe a little,” he said with a shrug. “She has red hair.”

  “You should’ve taken a picture,” Ali said, looking disappointed, and then her face lit up. “Maybe she’s on Facebook!” She pulled out her phone, tapped her Facebook app, and when it opened—like any good detective—she tapped the magnifying glass icon. “How do you spell her name?”

  Mason groaned and reluctantly spelled Maeve’s name, and as Ali typed, several possible profiles popped up. She tapped the first one and looked at the photo. “A little?!” she said in disbelief. “Mason, she looks just like you—she could be your sister, never mind your mother! She’s beautiful.” She enlarged the picture and continued to study it. “You definitely have her eyes—they’re the same color and everything . . . and your hair is the exact same color!”

  Mason raised his eyebrows and held out his hand, and Ali handed her phone to him. He gazed at Maeve’s photo and a crooked smile spread across his face. Yep, that was the kind lady he’d met. And Ali was right—she did look like him . . . or he like her—whichever it was. He quickly scrolled through her timeline and realized that either she didn’t post very often or her page was set on private. He handed the phone back to Ali, and she eyed him. “Am I right or am I right?”

  Mason smiled and shrugged.

  “You should friend her,” Ali said. “I’m sure she’d confirm you.”

  “Maybe,” Mason said.

  Ali rolled her eyes and put her phone away. She knew Mason well enough to know he wouldn’t be coerced into anything—if he wanted to friend his biological mom, he would do it when he was ready and not a second sooner.

  “So, where should we go shopping?” she asked.

  Mason pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and unfolded it. “I have a list.”

  “Perfect,” she said, holding out her hand.

  He handed it to her and while she perused it, he took another bite of his sandwich. “Where do I find extra-long sheets? I didn’t even know they made extra-long beds . . . because if I had, I would’ve asked my mom to buy one for me a long time ago.”

  “My mom says all the stores have them, especially this time of year because all the dorm rooms have extra-long beds.”

  “Nice,” Mason said, smiling. “I’ll look forward to not being cramped or having my feet hang off the end of the bed.”

  Ali looked up. “I wouldn’t know—I’ve never had that problem.” She looked back at his list. “I need a lot of this stuff, too. I guess our best bet is Walmart.”

  “Figures,” Mason said, frowning—he hated shopping. “Are you sure you don’t want to go hiking?”

  Ali laughed. “We both need to get this done. When are you leaving?”

  “Monday. I’m thinking of trying out for the cross-country team, and preseason starts on Tuesday with a meeting Monday afternoon.”

  “Wait! What? I didn’t know you were leaving so soon,” she said, her smile fading.

  Mason nodded. “I know. I wasn’t sure if I was going to—I just decided . . .”

  “Can you do that—just show up and try out?”

  “I talked to the coach and told him some of my race times in high school, and he said I was welcome to try out, but I’ve been pretty lax this summer so it’s going to be a challenge.”

  “Do they have a room for you?”

  “Yep, athletes move in early.”

  “Then I think we should definitely go shopping because when else will you do it?”

  Mason shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess I thought I’d do it after I got there.”

  Ali frowned. “No, we should go today . . . and maybe we can go hiking tomorrow . . . if you’re all packed.”

  “I’m planning to pack tonight,” he said, and then he smiled sadly. “I’m gonna miss you, Al. Who’s gonna get me through the hard times?”

  She looked in his eyes. “I’m gonna miss you, too, Mase. But we’re only twenty minutes apart.”

  “Yeah, if you’re driving,” he said, “and first-years can’t have cars.”

  She smiled. “I heard there’s a shuttle between Emory and Georgia Tech.”

  Mason’s face brightened. “There is?”

  She nodded, and Mason grinned. “Game changer!”

  Ali eyed him with a frown. “If you can’t have a car, how are you planning to get there?”

  “I don’t know,” he said, and then his face lit up. “Want to drive me?”

  “I guess I’ll have to,” Ali said, shaking her head and laughing. “I love the way you go through life, Mason, without a set plan, just hoping things will work out.”

  “And they usually do,” Mason said, grinning. “My mom called it ‘a wing and a prayer.’”

  “And she was right,” Ali said, laughing.

  41

  “WHERE THE HECK IS HE NOW?” MAEVE ASKED, AS SHE AND MACEY pulled into the driveway of the cabin on Saturday afternoon and found Gage’s truck missing. “I was hoping he’d be here so, you know, he could tell me he how much he regretted everything he said last night.”

  Macey eyed her. “What did we talk about?”

  “I know, I know. Don’t go running back,” Maeve said as she climbed out, “but I was still hoping it was just the whiskey talking.”

  Macey followed her sister up the path, admiring the flowers. “Your gardens are gorgeous, Maeve.”

  “Thanks. I’ve spent a lot of time out here, but they’re not gonna be mine to tend anymore.”

  “They’ll be your gardens again,” Macey said dismissively. “You should’ve let Harper come with us—she still talks about the day she came over and helped you in the garden.”

  “I would’ve let her come if I knew Gage wasn’t going to be home.”

  “Did you try to call him?”

  “I texted, but he hasn’t written back.”

  Macey shook her head. She liked Gage. He was a sweet, funny, and fun-loving person. He was a perfect match for her sister, not to mention he fit in perfectly with their family—Ben, their parents, and Harper, who adored him—so she didn’t understand why the news of a long-ago transgression had made him react so strongly. Maeve said he’d had his heart broken when he was younger, but that, too, had been a long time ago. In fact, it must’ve happened around the same time, and what an odd twist that would be. Was it possible that they’d both gone through something traumatic and heartbreaking around the same time . . . when they were around the same age?

  “Remember when we were having breakfast at Goose Feathers the other day, and I asked you to remind me to show you something?” Maeve asked, as she pulled open the screen door.

  “I do,” Macey replied.

  Maeve tried to turn the knob of the main door, but it was locked. “That’s odd. He never locks the door.” She reached under the mat for the key, unlocked it, and put the key back.

  They went inside and Macey watched as her sister looked through the contents of the drawer under Gage’s drawing table. “What was it?” she asked.

  “It was a little
black jewelry box. I don’t know what was in it . . . because I didn’t look—even though I had the chance—but I thought it might be an engagement ring.”

  “No way!” Macey said in surprise.

  Maeve nodded and closed the drawer. “It’s not here now, though,” she said glumly. She clicked on the lamp and realized Gage had framed the small photo of Dutch and stood it on the shelf above his table. “Here’s that drawing he just finished of his grandfather, though—the one Harper was talking about.”

  Macey looked over her shoulder. “Wow! That’s amazing!” she said, admiring his work. “He’s very talented.” She studied the image. “Do you think there’s a little family resemblance?”

  “I know, right?” Maeve said. “You should see his brothers.”

  Macey frowned. “Where have you seen his brothers?”

  “On Facebook,” Maeve said. She knew her sister wasn’t a fan of the social media site, so when Macey raised her eyebrows, Maeve admitted, “Yeah, I was snooping.” She reached up to turn off the lamp and noticed a sheet of blue stationery on top of the pile of papers—was it the same letter she’d seen in his Bible?

  Macey had disappeared into the kitchen. “Want some coffee?”

  Maeve looked up. “Sure, it’s in the cabinet next to the sink.” She picked up the letter and studied the long, elegant handwriting.

  Dear Gage,

  It was so good to hear your voice a couple of weeks ago! You don’t know how much I miss it! Anyway, I don’t know if you will remember when we spoke that I mentioned Dad hasn’t been feeling well—headaches and nausea—and on the day of your call, because somehow you know when he’s not around, he’d been to the doctor for some tests. Well, today, we both went back to find out the results . . . and as I sit here, tonight, I can barely believe the news I have to share. Gage, I know your relationship with Dad has been difficult, but he has just been diagnosed with a very aggressive form of inoperable brain cancer and the doctor has given him only a couple of months to live. As I write these words, I can barely see the page because of the tears that are welling up in my eyes.

  For years, I’ve prayed that you two would find a way to reconcile your differences. We miss having you here—even having you visit, especially on the holidays. I know you come by when he’s not around, but that isn’t enough for your poor mother’s heart—a heart that aches to see and hug her strong, handsome son—the one with the sensitive old soul. It aches for all the time we’ve lost not being together while on this earth. Life is much too short.

  Gage, I know you believe your dad blames you for some of the things that have happened, but I also know, with all my heart, that it isn’t true! He only blames himself. He blames himself for not letting you call Doc Jacobs when Chestnut was struggling; he blames himself for not being more understanding when you wanted to pursue your own dreams; and most of all, he blames himself for Cale’s accident. No matter how many times I’ve tried to tell him it wasn’t his fault—just like I try to tell you he doesn’t blame you (you two are more alike than you know!)—he doesn’t believe me. It’s something he will never get over. I know he seems distant and difficult and stubborn to you boys, but he loves you with all his heart . . . and he misses you. He doesn’t tell you these things, though, because, as you know, it’s just the way he is.

  As I write these words to you on this summer night, the loons are calling—it’s such a haunting sound, but it reminds me of when you and Cale were little, when it was just the two of you, before your younger brothers all came along—and how you, especially, loved lying in bed, listening to them . . . and how you knew what each of their calls meant, thanks to Dutch, of course—someone else you should visit!

  Oh, Gage, I know how hard it will be for you to come home and see your dad, but I truly believe if you don’t make amends and find it in your heart to forgive him, you will carry this unresolved sorrow and regret all your life, and I don’t want that for you. Dad loves you so much, and I know he would love to see you. His diagnosis has devastated all of us. Please think about coming home. God wants us to forgive, Gage, because when we hang on to the pain someone has caused us, we only end up hurting ourselves. Dad and I love you so much! Please come home and see him!

  Love,

  Mom

  Maeve was still staring at the page when Macey came into the room, carrying two steaming mugs of coffee. “You still take it black, ri—?” she started to ask, but then saw her sister’s face and stopped. “What’s the matter?”

  Maeve exchanged the letter for one of the mugs and waited while Macey read it. Finally, her sister looked up. “Wow, this is so sad. I know you said he’s had a lot goin’ on, but sheesh . . .”

  Maeve nodded. “Now I really I wonder where he is,” she said softly.

  Just then, Macey’s phone hummed, and she pulled it out of her pocket and read a text from Ben.

  Are you still at the cabin?

  Yes

  Gage just texted—he’s gonna be away for a few days and he needs someone to look after the chickens.

  Macey frowned.

  Where’d he go?

  Home to Tennessee, Ben wrote back. Family emergency

  Macey took in a deep breath and slowly let it out.

  “What?” Maeve asked.

  “Gage is on his way to Tennessee—something must’ve happened.”

  “Oh, no,” Maeve whispered.

  42

  CARS AND TRUCKS WERE PARKED EVERY WHICH WAY WHEN GAGE PULLED into his parents’ driveway. Gus sniffed the air excitedly, wagging his tail, ready to leap out and explore, but Gage just sat there, looking at the old white farmhouse. He needed to gather his thoughts . . . and his courage. What do you say to someone who is dying, especially after so many years of silence? Suddenly, he heard a commotion, and then the screen door swung open and a man emerged with his hands over his face. Gage frowned. Two of his brothers, Matt and Eli, looked so much alike they were often mistaken for twins, but Matt was taller, so when a second figure strode out behind him, Gage knew the one in front had been Matt. He wondered if Grayson and Chase were there, too. Of all his brothers, Matt had grown closest to their dad after Cale died, doing his best to fill their oldest brother’s shoes.

  Gage opened his door, and Gus—finally free—leapt over his lap and raced across the yard, taking in all the wonderful barnyard scents, but when two coon hounds charged around the house, bellowing, the happy-go-lucky Lab came to a stiff halt. The three dogs greeted each other with obligatory sniffs, and finally—deciding all was well—trotted off, wagging their tails and marking one another’s scents.

  Gage climbed the steps of the wraparound porch and immediately saw his brothers’ tears. “Dad’s gone,” Eli said, giving him a hug.

  “He is?!” Gage looked stunned. He turned to go inside and found his mom surrounded by their family and friends in the big country kitchen, drying her eyes, but when she saw him standing in the doorway, tears immediately filled them again.

  “Oh, Gage, you just missed him,” she cried.

  Gage closed his eyes and held her. His mom’s tears were almost harder to bear than losing his dad. He let her pull him into the room where his father lay, and with a clenched jaw, gazed at the frail frame of the man who had, at one time, towered over him in stature and authority. Libby put her hand on his arm. “It was peaceful,” she consoled softly. “He’s had so much pain, but the morphine helped, and he just . . .” She paused. “I’m so sorry you didn’t get here in time.” She looked up at her son. “I’ll let you have some time alone—you can still talk to him. . . . His spirit will hear you.”

  Gage raised his eyebrows, wondering if this was true, and after she quietly closed the door, he walked over to the window and looked out across the fields of golden timothy swaying in the summer breeze. Time for third cutting, he thought. He glanced around the room, trying not to look at the bed and trying to remember the last time he’d stood in his parents’ bedroom. He gazed at their wedding picture hanging above his dad’s b
ureau—how young they’d been—much younger than he was now—and their eyes were so bright with dreams. A second framed photo on the bureau was of his dad surrounded by all his sons . . . except for Chase—who was on his shoulders. Tucked in the corner was a smaller photo of Cale standing in the opening of the hayloft with his hands on his hips. He was smiling. It was one of those rare photos that truly captured his brother’s spirit. Cale had been tough and hardworking, but also kind to a fault, and he had a streak of mischief, too. In the photo, he looked every bit the part. Gage turned on the small lamp next to the photo and saw the wooden bowl of loose change he and his brothers would “borrow” from when they were little—pulling up a nearby chair so they could reach it. Next to the bowl was his dad’s old Timex watch, which absolutely lived up to its name and taken a licking but kept on ticking—even out-ticking its owner.

  Gage closed his eyes. Behind him lay the great Jack Tennyson: the man who had not only confounded him, and wittingly—or unwittingly—crushed his dreams, but who also had, his mom insisted, loved him. And now, this giant of a man had fallen, conceding—as every mortal must—to death. How, he wondered, did the loss of his father make him feel? Did he feel less angry? Did he regret lost time and opportunity? Did he regret the pride that had kept him away? He shoved his hands into his pockets and turned to look at his dad’s lifeless body, waiting for some emotion—any emotion—to hit, but all he felt was . . . numb. For years, resentment, anger, and pride had built up inside him—enough to keep him away . . . and now, he just felt empty.

  Where had the fiery spirit of the tall, strong man who’d ruled his household with a firm, even hand gone? Was he in heaven? Had he already been reunited with loved ones who had passed before him? Was he, at that very moment, embracing Cale? Gage swallowed, trying to wrap his mind around the concept of eternity, the concept of time, and, picturing the joyous reunion his brother and father might be sharing, decided his father certainly wouldn’t want to be interrupted by words from his prodigal son—that would be an unwelcome, ironic repeat of the past. So, Gage just stood there, stoic and silent.